THE BERKSHIRE LADY’S GARLAND.
IN FOUR PARTS.
To the tune of The Royal Forester.
[When we first met with this very pleasing English ballad, we deemed the story to be wholly fictitious, but ‘strange’ as the ‘relation’ may appear, the incidents narrated are ‘true’ or at least founded on fact. The scene of the ballad is Whitley Park, near Reading, in Berkshire, and not, as some suppose, Calcot House, which was not built till 1759. Whitley is mentioned as ‘the Abbot’s Park, being at the entrance of Redding town.’ At the Dissolution the estate passed to the crown, and the mansion seems, from time to time, to have been used as a royal ‘palace’ till the reign of Elizabeth, by whom it was granted, along with the estate, to Sir Francis Knollys; it was afterwards, by purchase, the property of the Kendricks, an ancient race, descended from the Saxon kings. William Kendrick, of Whitley, armr. was created a baronet in 1679, and died in 1685, leaving issue one son, Sir William Kendrick, of Whitley, Bart., who married Miss Mary House, of Reading, and died in 1699, without issue male, leaving an only daughter. It was this rich heiress, who possessed ‘store of wealth and beauty bright,’ that is the heroine of the ballad. She married Benjamin Child, Esq., a young and handsome, but very poor attorney of Reading, and the marriage is traditionally reported to have been brought about exactly as related in the ballad. We have not been able to ascertain the exact date of the marriage, which was celebrated in St. Mary’s Church, Reading, the bride wearing a thick veil; but the ceremony must have taken place some time about 1705. In 1714, Mr. Child was high sheriff of Berkshire. As he was an humble and obscure personage previously to his espousing the heiress of Whitley, and, in fact, owed all his wealth and influence to his marriage, it cannot be supposed that immediately after his union he would be elevated to so important and dignified a post as the high-shrievalty of the very aristocratical county of Berks. We may, therefore, consider nine or ten years to have elapsed betwixt his marriage and his holding the office of high sheriff, which he filled when he was about thirty-two years of age. The author of the ballad is unknown: supposing him to have composed it shortly after the events which he records, we cannot be far wrong in fixing its date about 1706. The earliest broadside we have seen contains a rudely executed, but by no means bad likeness of Queen Anne, the reigning monarch at that period.]
PART I.
SHOWING CUPID’S CONQUEST OVER A COY LADY OF FIVE THOUSAND A YEAR.
Bachelors of every station,
Mark this strange and true relation,
Which in brief to you I bring,—
Never was a stranger thing!
You shall find it worth the hearing;
Loyal love is most endearing,
When it takes the deepest root,
Yielding charms and gold to boot.
Some will wed for love of treasure;
But the sweetest joy and pleasure
Is in faithful love, you’ll find,
Gracèd with a noble mind.
Such a noble disposition
Had this lady, with submission,
Of whom I this sonnet write,
Store of wealth, and beauty bright.
She had left, by a good grannum,
Full five thousand pounds per annum,
Which she held without control;
Thus she did in riches roll.
Though she had vast store of riches,
Which some persons much bewitches,
Yet she bore a virtuous mind,
Not the least to pride inclined.
Many noble persons courted
This young lady, ’tis reported;
But their labour proved in vain,
They could not her favour gain.
Though she made a strong resistance,
Yet by Cupid’s true assistance,
She was conquered after all;
How it was declare I shall.
Being at a noble wedding,
Near the famous town of Redding, [92]
A young gentleman she saw,
Who belongèd to the law.
As she viewed his sweet behaviour,
Every courteous carriage gave her
New addition to her grief;
Forced she was to seek relief.
Privately she then enquired
About him, so much admired;
Both his name, and where he dwelt,—
Such was the hot flame she felt.
Then, at night, this youthful lady
Called her coach, which being ready,
Homewards straight she did return;
But her heart with flames did burn.
PART II.
SHOWING THE LADY’S LETTER OF A CHALLENGE TO FIGHT HIM UPON HIS REFUSING TO WED HER IN A MASK, WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WAS.
Night and morning, for a season,
In her closet would she reason
With herself, and often said,
‘Why has love my heart betrayed?
‘I, that have so many slighted,
Am at length so well requited;
For my griefs are not a few!
Now I find what love can do.
‘He that has my heart in keeping,
Though I for his sake be weeping,
Little knows what grief I feel;
But I’ll try it out with steel.
‘For I will a challenge send him,
And appoint where I’ll attend him,
In a grove, without delay,
By the dawning of the day.
‘He shall not the least discover
That I am a virgin lover,
By the challenge which I send;
But for justice I contend.
‘He has causèd sad distraction,
And I come for satisfaction,
Which if he denies to give,
One of us shall cease to live.’
Having thus her mind revealed,
She her letter closed and sealed;
Which, when it came to his hand,
The young man was at a stand.
In her letter she conjured him
For to meet, and well assured him,
Recompence he must afford,
Or dispute it with the sword.
Having read this strange relation,
He was in a consternation;
But, advising with his friend,
He persuades him to attend.
‘Be of courage, and make ready,
Faint heart never won fair lady;
In regard it must be so,
I along with you must go.’
PART III.
SHOWING HOW THEY MET BY APPOINTMENT IN A GROVE, WHERE SHE OBLIGED HIM TO FIGHT OR WED HER.
Early on a summer’s morning,
When bright Phoebus was adorning
Every bower with his beams,
The fair lady came, it seems.
At the bottom of a mountain,
Near a pleasant crystal fountain,
There she left her gilded coach,
While the grove she did approach.
Covered with her mask, and walking,
There she met her lover talking
With a friend that he had brought;
So she asked him whom he sought.
‘I am challenged by a gallant,
Who resolves to try my talent;
Who he is I cannot say,
But I hope to show him play.’
‘It is I that did invite you,
You shall wed me, or I’ll fight you,
Underneath those spreading trees;
Therefore, choose you which you please.
‘You shall find I do not vapour,
I have brought my trusty rapier;
Therefore, take your choice,’ said she,
‘Either fight or marry me.’
Said he, ‘Madam, pray what mean you?
In my life I’ve never seen you;
Pray unmask, your visage show,
Then I’ll tell you aye or no.’
‘I will not my face uncover
Till the marriage ties are over;
Therefore, choose you which you will,
Wed me, sir, or try your skill.
‘Step within that pleasant bower,
With your friend one single hour;
Strive your thoughts to reconcile,
And I’ll wander here the while.’
While this beauteous lady waited,
The young bachelors debated
What was best for to be done:
Quoth his friend, ‘The hazard run.
‘If my judgment can be trusted,
Wed her first, you can’t be worsted;
If she’s rich, you’ll rise to fame,
If she’s poor, why! you’re the same.’
He consented to be married;
All three in a coach were carried
To a church without delay,
Where he weds the lady gay.
Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered
Round her eyes, her face was covered
With a mask,—he took her thus,
Just for better or for worse.
With a courteous kind behaviour,
She presents his friend a favour,
And withal dismissed him straight,
That he might no longer wait.
PART IV.
SHOWING HOW THEY RODE TOGETHER IN HER GILDED COACH TO HER NOBLE SEAT, OR CASTLE, ETC.
As the gilded coach stood ready,
The young lawyer and his lady
Rode together, till they came
To her house of state and fame;
Which appearèd like a castle,
Where you might behold a parcel
Of young cedars, tall and straight,
Just before her palace gate.
Hand in hand they walked together,
To a hall, or parlour, rather,
Which was beautiful and fair,—
All alone she left him there.
Two long hours there he waited
Her return;—at length he fretted,
And began to grieve at last,
For he had not broke his fast.
Still he sat like one amazed,
Round a spacious room he gazed,
Which was richly beautified;
But, alas! he lost his bride.
There was peeping, laughing, sneering,
All within the lawyer’s hearing;
But his bride he could not see;
‘Would I were at home!’ thought he.
While his heart was melancholy,
Said the steward, brisk and jolly,
‘Tell me, friend, how came you here?
You’ve some bad design, I fear.’
He replied, ‘Dear loving master,
You shall meet with no disaster
Through my means, in any case,—
Madam brought me to this place.’
Then the steward did retire,
Saying, that he would enquire
Whether it was true or no:
Ne’er was lover hampered so.
Now the lady who had filled him
With those fears, full well beheld him
From a window, as she dressed,
Pleasèd at the merry jest.
When she had herself attired
In rich robes, to be admired,
She appearèd in his sight,
Like a moving angel bright.
‘Sir! my servants have related,
How some hours you have waited
In my parlour,—tell me who
In my house you ever knew?’
‘Madam! if I have offended,
It is more than I intended;
A young lady brought me here:’—
‘That is true,’ said she, ‘my dear.
‘I can be no longer cruel
To my joy, and only jewel;
Thou art mine, and I am thine,
Hand and heart I do resign!
‘Once I was a wounded lover,
Now these fears are fairly over;
By receiving what I gave,
Thou art lord of what I have.’
Beauty, honour, love, and treasure,
A rich golden stream of pleasure,
With his lady he enjoys;
Thanks to Cupid’s kind decoys.
Now he’s clothed in rich attire,
Not inferior to a squire;
Beauty, honour, riches’ store,
What can man desire more?
THE NOBLEMAN’S GENEROUS KINDNESS.
Giving an account of a nobleman, who, taking notice of a poor man’s industrious care and pains for the maintaining of his charge of seven small children, met him upon a day, and discoursing with him, invited him, and his wife and his children, home to his house, and bestowed upon them a farm of thirty acres of land, to be continued to him and his heirs for ever.
To the tune of The Two English Travellers.
[This still popular ballad is entitled in the modern copies, The Nobleman and Thrasher; or, the Generous Gift. There is a copy preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, with which our version has been collated. It is taken from a broadside printed by Robert Marchbank, in the Custom-house Entry, Newcastle.]
A nobleman lived in a village of late,
Hard by a poor thrasher, whose charge it was great;
For he had seven children, and most of them small,
And nought but his labour to support them withal.
He never was given to idle and lurk,
For this nobleman saw him go daily to work,
With his flail and his bag, and his bottle of beer,
As cheerful as those that have hundreds a year.
Thus careful, and constant, each morning he went,
Unto his daily labour with joy and content;
So jocular and jolly he’d whistle and sing,
As blithe and as brisk as the birds in the spring.
One morning, this nobleman taking a walk,
He met this poor man, and he freely did talk;
He asked him [at first] many questions at large,
And then began talking concerning his charge.
‘Thou hast many children, I very well know,
Thy labour is hard, and thy wages are low,
And yet thou art cheerful; I pray tell me true,
How can you maintain them as well as you do?’
‘I carefully carry home what I do earn,
My daily expenses by this I do learn;
And find it is possible, though we be poor,
To still keep the ravenous wolf from the door.
‘I reap and I mow, and I harrow and sow,
Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go;
No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I plough,
Thus my bread I do earn by the sweat of my brow.
‘My wife she is willing to pull in a yoke,
We live like two lambs, nor each other provoke;
We both of us strive, like the labouring ant,
And do our endeavours to keep us from want.
‘And when I come home from my labour at night,
To my wife and my children, in whom I delight;
To see them come round me with prattling noise,—
Now these are the riches a poor man enjoys.
‘Though I am as weary as weary may be,
The youngest I commonly dance on my knee;
I find that content is a moderate feast,
I never repine at my lot in the least.’
Now the nobleman hearing what he did say,
Was pleased, and invited him home the next day;
His wife and his children he charged him to bring;
In token of favour he gave him a ring.
He thankèd his honour, and taking his leave,
He went to his wife, who would hardly believe
But this same story himself he might raise;
Yet seeing the ring she was [lost] in amaze.
Betimes in the morning the good wife she arose,
And made them all fine, in the best of their clothes;
The good man with his good wife, and children small,
They all went to dine at the nobleman’s hall.
But when they came there, as truth does report,
All things were prepared in a plentiful sort;
And they at the nobleman’s table did dine,
With all kinds of dainties, and plenty of wine.
The feast being over, he soon let them know,
That he then intended on them to bestow
A farm-house, with thirty good acres of land;
And gave them the writings then, with his own hand.
‘Because thou art careful, and good to thy wife,
I’ll make thy days happy the rest of thy life;
It shall be for ever, for thee and thy heirs,
Because I beheld thy industrious cares.’
No tongue then is able in full to express
The depth of their joy, and true thankfulness;
With many a curtsey, and bow to the ground,—
Such noblemen there are but few to be found.